


For a Beast

by Rosage



Series: In Their Orbit [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, M/M, Paranormal, Werewolf Ferdinand/Human Hubert, references to animal death, references to blood and injuries, references to human bones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Ferdinand’s role as a bombastic sophisticate conceals his family’s lycanthropy. To keep others safe from himself, he hires Hubert—his estranged childhood friend and an assassin shrouded in rumor—to end him if necessary. When Hubert uncovers further secrets, his take on the assignment might flip Ferdinand’s expectations upside down.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: In Their Orbit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612477
Comments: 15
Kudos: 249





	1. Dreary Missions

**Author's Note:**

> There isn’t exactly an Empire, Insurrection of the Seven, etc. here—the nobles stay in their separate territories, vying for power and sparking rumors of paranormal activity. The Hresvelgs are especially old and powerful, but not necessarily royalty. As a result of this and the lack of the game’s academy phase, Ferdinand is less of a rival to Hubert and Edelgard and more estranged from them. 
> 
> To both cement and make up for Hubert’s humanity, his character sheet is more like a rogue than a mage.
> 
> I had way too much fun writing this. I hope it is enjoyed!

Hubert arrives at the Aegir estate beneath an almost full moon. Its lord welcomes him and his horse with the candor of one receiving a luncheon guest, though Ferdinand’s eyes—oddly yellow in the dark—dart around as if something more sinister than Hubert lurks in the shadows. The surrounding forest is quiet enough for that to be true.

The manor’s spired silhouette twists above the trees. Slabs of butter-like paint would attempt to soften it in daylight, to no current avail. As if to compensate, Ferdinand chatters as he leads Hubert inside and into the tearoom. Enough candles light it to be a hazard, showcasing the garish yellow-green wallpaper in its full glory. Hubert settles into a chair with a lacy back that looks ready to crumple around him.

“What is your preferred beverage these days?” Ferdinand asks.

Among many Hubert meets, that question is a trap. Declining preserves the mystery—besides, he doubts Ferdinand has coffee. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Nonsense, you are my guest. I just got in a blend with cinnamon. I think you shall like it.”

As Hubert’s response doesn’t seem to matter, he doesn’t give one. Ferdinand makes the tea with a hum and clatter that grate in the emptiness. When he finishes, he gingerly sets down two cups. Neither of them drinks.

Ferdinand doesn’t quite sit before rising again to circle the room, adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. He straightens a mirror framed in gold. It hangs over a table laden with flowers, creating a portrait out of all who enter. Hubert has avoided it out of habit. Ferdinand glances into it with a frown.

“I scarcely know where to begin.”

“Ferdinand von Aegir, at a loss for words? Will wonders never cease?”

“Please, do not tease me. This is serious.”

“Then I suggest you cut to the chase.”

Ferdinand takes a deep breath. “Right,” he says, and removes his glove.

Hubert displays no reaction as silk falls away, revealing Ferdinand’s pointed nails and the fur sprouting between his fingers. It is none too impressive (does he _groom_ his claws?), but for whatever reason, Hubert’s heart makes itself known.

In his more logical mind, clues fall into place. His investigations’ apparent dead-ends when the name Aegir snags underfoot. The otherwise ostentatious household’s lack of silver. The way Ferdinand wrestled his childhood companions and dodged tutors to ride horses, until all at once he traded his rowdier tendencies for starched suits and saccharine manners.

Hubert files the latter point in a deep corner. “Why summon me for this?”

“Your reputation,” Ferdinand says with too much emphasis, “speaks to your skill set and discretion. Pray understand, the last thing I wish is to cause the people I serve unnecessary panic or hardship.”

In other words, most of the Aegir territory’s residents are humans, sent into fight or flight at evidence of a monster. A werebeast’s senses must be oversold if Ferdinand mistakes him for a kindred spirit. Does he think Hubert a vampire, perhaps, or some manner of ghoul? Anyone collecting intelligence on him can uncover a variety of misinformation.

Not that he minds. He wears the rumors like a cloak. Everyone reveals something the moment their eyes meet: fear, hatred, or most damningly, recognition. He flashes false teeth and asks ominous questions, cataloguing the weak and small-minded, and those who mistake him for a rival.

Ferdinand displays none of this. His nervous tics are directed inwards, at the hands he wrings and forces apart as if repulsed by his own touch. He scarcely seems to register that it is Hubert in the room, other than that he—is what? An acceptable confidant? Someone who will not sell Ferdinand out?

He has no reason to believe that. Desperation must have led him to hand Hubert the perfect blackmail.

“And what need do you have of my skill set?” Hubert asks. Ferdinand paces over to the window.

“The forest gives me ample space to roam and hunt. Poaching around my family’s estate has always held heavy repercussions, yet I cannot guarantee no one will come near.”

“Of course. You must ensure any witness’s silence."

“No, that is not—well, naturally, I must beg your secrecy in this matter, but that is not my request. It is my duty as the new Duke Aegir to protect my territory’s people.” Storm clouds gather in Ferdinand’s eyes. “My memories of the full moon are as hazy as any dream. I could never forgive myself if I woke to find the crows picking at more than deer.”

The nature of Ferdinand’s request hits Hubert without impact, making him aware of his own emptiness. “And to prevent this, you would pay any price?”

“Yes,” Ferdinand says in a hush. “Anything to protect innocents.”

Hubert searches him for signs of falsehood. Ferdinand pulls his glove back on and waves his hand to banish the silence.

“A dreary mission, is it not? You will be well compensated, of course,” Ferdinand says. Hubert crosses his arms.

“Dreary missions are my specialty. That said, I have existing duties. You must realize no proper Vestra is swayed by wealth or status.” Any persuaded to take blood and subsequently staked by Hubert’s hand don’t qualify.

“As to be expected. I am hosting a brunch the day after the full moon, and I thought—”

“We are certainly not swayed by parties.”

Ferdinand retrieves a list from a side table. Other stacks of parchment clutter the room, like he can’t be bothered to stick to his office.

“No, of course not, but not all nobles are so vigilant. Some of them disgrace us with what they reveal before noon, if the cocktails are presented attractively enough. Perhaps you have suggested additions to this guest list?”

As Hubert scans the presented names, he cannot help lifting his brow. It resembles lists of his own, people he’s investigating for corruption and a possible connection to Edelgard’s enemies. Her name is printed at the bottom, like it’s some signature on all of Ferdinand’s documents.

“She will not be coming,” Hubert says. Ferdinand clucks his tongue.

“Far from a surprise, given she has not responded to my invitation. I imagine my other recent missives were lost in the mail.”

“Perhaps.” Hubert hands back the list. “Now stop badgering her.”

Despite what must be sensitive hearing, Ferdinand ignores the comment as he makes a show of straightening his papers. “I should invite her to a horse race next moon.” He sets down the papers without releasing them. “How is she?”

As if Hubert can answer that. As if anyone deserves to know.

“Capable of anything. I see to all that is beneath her.”

Ferdinand studies Hubert in a way he is not used to, holding his gaze without flinching or apparent expectations. After a beat too long, Ferdinand nods. “I think a horse race. As to our business, is this a suitable arrangement for this moon? I am sure, if all parties are satisfied, we could form a more long term agreement in the following days.”

_All parties_ as if he is not alone, throwing himself at Hubert’s mercy. There are not even any servants; Hubert understands now why he could never place a spy.

And yet, here is an open invitation. The task is simple, and Ferdinand easily betrayed if he should become a liability; all Hubert must weigh is if it is worth a monthly appointment away from Edelgard.

“I see no problem for this moon, at least. After that, we shall see,” Hubert says.

At last, Ferdinand settles in a chair, apparently relieved to have another monster on the prowl. “Thank you. In that case, I have one more request.”

“What is it?” Hubert asks, halfway to standing.

“Please do not follow me from the manor. Simply wait for a beast to appear in the woods, and ensure it does not cause too much wreckage.” 

* * *

After a day acquiring silver and studying maps, Hubert surveys the forest. The summer foliage provides cover. Towering oaks make climbing child’s play. He has spent long hours in high places to overcome his weakness; against beings with better sight and ways of disappearing, he needs every advantage he can get. He patrols for intruders until the moon reveals its unmasked face, and a howl rises to meet it.

Had he not known, he never would have guessed the source. There’s no pride or bombast. Without a pack to join in, the slow crescendo seems to beseech the moon, at least, to keep watch.

With his scent masked, Hubert follows the howling deeper into the woods, where even the full moon struggles to slice through the canopy’s shadow. Darkness enfolds him as an old friend. When those monsters first turned Edelgard, Hubert hid away from the sun with her, growing pale while he hunted her enemies. It serves him now as he follows wolf-like tracks without being detected.

When a cluster of mammals fails to escape across a clearing, Hubert shimmies up an oak for a proper look. The beast is lean enough to slip through the trees, though taller than the average wolf and strong enough to overpower his prey. His ample ginger fur is already matted with dirt and blood.

The smell of it reaches Hubert. Earthy scents would cover it if not for his familiarity with its tang, as he brings blood for Edelgard when her hunger disgusts her. He would not leave that task to Arundel, who arranged for their private lodgings and had others provide a face for public governance. Edelgard has replaced those appointments one at a time. Most likely, she’s working on their next plan, hunched alone over her desk—or she’s out gathering information without a guard.

Pain fills his chest. Numbness crawls over the rest of him. _No_. Not when even the height hasn’t done him in.

He counts breaths to regulate them, darting his eyes around to note every sight: the beast gnawing on a bone, a squirrel taking refuge in a bush, moonbeams falling in the beast’s wake like a warning signal. _Absorb facts_ , Hubert orders himself. _Don’t think of everything that could happen to her while you watch a dog maul its supper._

As he thinks it, the beast disappears. Hubert mouths a curse and climbs down the tree to follow.

The beast bores of hunting, and thus becomes more boring to watch. He pads in circles, pounces at nothing, and howls for a playmate, as if the forest’s creatures don’t know to stay away. He patrols with his snout in the air, stopping to gnaw on a stick or chase his own shadow. _Ah yes, the noble von Aegir, governor by day and terror by night_. Hubert’s smile is unkind, but it stays.

As the moon slips behind the canopy and dew beads the grass, the beast disappears again. His tracks change shape on the way to a hidden trap door; mentally, Hubert maps out a route to the manor’s cellar. Though it wasn’t in their agreement, he covers up the tracks that Ferdinand ignored in his likely rush to get inside.

* * *

Hubert enters the manor with full intent to discontinue the arrangement. The sun brings the knowledge that Edelgard must hide alone, with nobody to prepare her drink or fine-tune her plans.

A freckled chef has arrived outside of even Hubert’s notice, slipping in and out of the kitchen with a ghost’s presence. A cat winds around his legs. Now knowing how Ferdinand intends to cater a brunch, Hubert conducts himself as any other newly arrived guest, albeit with less strutting.

Like he in his dark vest and billowing sleeves, the others are ‘dressed down’ for the relatively casual occasion. He notes each face and his suspicions about them. This one, keen on extortion but not clever enough to conceal paranormal connections (though, he thought the same of the late Duke Aegir). That one, a little too comfortable with Hubert looming in the corner, holding a red drink.

He has only offered cursory greetings when the double doors fly open. Ferdinand emerges with his arms wide, beaming like an imitation sun ordered to shine on his guests. He flits about the room without landing long enough for anyone to get a proper look—anyone except Hubert, observing at a distance. No part of Ferdinand’s crimson silk or easy laughter implies how he spent his night. The event’s timing almost seems designed to demonstrate as much.

Near the end of his rounds, he lights down in front of Hubert. “Marquis Vestra. How fortuitous that such a busy man could join us.”

Hubert holds up his glass and inclines his head. “Who could resist such delicious—that is, delightful company?” His neighbor coughs. Up close, he sees the strain in Ferdinand’s smile for only a moment before Ferdinand whisks it away to his next guest.

Soon, everyone congregates around the long table, and the chef presents the meal with a nervous smile. It wouldn’t hold Hubert’s attention if not for one dish: pheasant with eggs and cabbage, the only food Hubert and Ferdinand used to agree on. It complements nothing else; the breads are all for a sweeter palette. Does Ferdinand think to bribe him with such a small thing? Does he not think Hubert’s tastes have changed?

They haven’t. Ordinarily, he dines alone, so as not to flaunt his humanity in front of Edelgard. He eats quickly to return to her. The pheasant, he lingers on, finding it savory and tender. It brings to mind a much younger Ferdinand across the table, his attention on nothing but the food and his two guests.

That, if nothing else, is reason to never do this again.

He turns his focus to asking subtle questions of the lord beside him. Learning nothing other than that the man is a blowhard, he shifts to eavesdropping. Voices drop names he hadn’t expected, and he notes all of the connections. The late Aegir haunts the conversation. None of the gossip is positive, unless someone is seated next to Ferdinand.

As for him, it does not seem to be his favorite topic. He speaks instead with the elder Countess Bergliez, who shares his zeal for weapon collecting. Their conversation makes the hair rise on Hubert’s neck with a single name.

“Arundel never lets me near his collection,” she says. “I just know he is hoarding something esoteric.”

“Of course anyone tied to House Hresvelg would keep ancient pieces. And you do not know exactly what?” Ferdinand asks.

“That,” she says, leaning in, “is exactly what I hoped to ask you. Did your father not conduct trade with him?”

Hubert chews slowly, no longer tasting his pheasant.

“I would have to check the records,” Ferdinand says, his brow pinching. “I confess to not having dealt with Arundel yet myself.”

“If you do, you shall have to ask after the weapons. I hear his armory is most… unique.”

Frustratingly, she has no other details to offer, and the conversation shifts to a debate about armor. Hubert swirls his cup. How deeply did the late Aegir’s dealings with Arundel run? If the answer is _deep_ , is Ferdinand truly ignorant? Either he is, or this is all an elaborate trap, and Hubert is not sure which is worse.

There is only one way to know for sure, or at least, one way that has fallen into his lap. That Ferdinand’s secret intrigues him despite himself is of no consequence.

Surely one more full moon will not be so great a loss.


	2. Cellar Crimes

Another full moon passes, then two, and still Hubert returns to the estate.

Knowing Edelgard, she will notice a pattern. He resigns himself to broaching the topic when he arrives home. The Hresvelgs' side manor blends in with the mountain it is tucked against, an ancient fortress of stone and craggy peaks. Its harsh lines soothe him.

He enters her chambers as she rises from her coffin, a sight that would amuse him if it were anyone else. As it is, he fights his strained heart and sets a vase of fresh flowers on her table. Indigo, like the morning glories she never sees bloom.

Once she’s dressed in a black suit that sets off her ashen face, she sits at the table with her hands folded, as if expecting a poached egg on toast. He ducks to where he keeps his supplies. Among other tools of his trade sits a collection of tomes, chalk, and bones. In whatever spare time he possesses, he delves into the arcane for anything that might save his lady. Not that a human can delve very far.

All he can do is uncork a chilled flask of blood and tip it into a teacup, which he brings to Edelgard. She stirs it with a little spoon and a grimace.

“New investigations will take me away in the coming months. I assure you, they will be brief as ever until I can return to your side,” he says when she shows no intention of drinking.

“I trust your judgment,” she says. Part of him is glad she does not ask for details; part of him wishes she would protest. The part of him that matters nudges the cup toward her until she downs it with her usual efficiency.

As much color as possible flushes her cheeks. She turns eagle eyes on him. “What sort of investigations?” she asks.

He drums his fingers on his sleeve. If he reveals he will visit the Aegir estate every full moon, it will be no secret as to why. Not that he cares to keep Ferdinand’s secrets, but they are of no relevance to Edelgard yet.

“Among other things, I heard Arundel’s name tied to that of Aegir. Weapon trade, perhaps. I am not sure if there is more there.”

Edelgard pats her mouth with a cloth. Like the rug beneath them, its crimson color conceals stains. “Would this have anything to do with the letters Ferdinand has been sending me? He seems more insistent than usual.”

Hubert scowls. How did Ferdinand send those under his nose? No doubt while Hubert was there, so the mail would get ahead of him.

The irritation doesn’t outweigh the benefits. The freedom of his assignment lets him map out a maze of secret passageways beneath the manor, most of which lead into the forest. Contractors come and go, though with his limited presence, he cannot determine a pattern.

"I shall determine the vetting process. If I can slip a spy into the rotation, there will be no need to go myself,” he says while relaying this. It is not as though he relishes the parties.

Ironically, they help Ferdinand keep his secret. In the guests’ short stay, he establishes a reputation as a gregarious host and keeps a thumb on the pulse of current happenings. He can go on about himself for eons, all while saying nothing of importance, deflecting the true purpose of others’ probing. Either he is a conversational genius or simply missing cues. A mastermind or a lonely hound.

All Hubert knows, as he tells Edelgard, is that deceivers can get away with any manner of wickedness.

“And have you found evidence of such wickedness?” she asks.

“I have not,” he admits. Only of a compassionate governor, slowly restoring the good faith of citizens who wouldn’t shed a tear at their previous duke’s death. Hubert cannot deny he’s impressed at such an uphill battle. He must report that Aegir is low on the list of nobles to replace, at least for now.

In all fairness, each time Ferdinand’s jaw sets at his father’s name, he is shuffled even lower.

* * *

Despite everything Hubert has pieced together, at times it astounds him that Ferdinand manages to hide anything. A glance reveals whether or not he has been into town. He glows whenever he gets to be with his people, and nearly claws a track in the carpet when he can’t. His origins display themselves in the tilt of his head, the three turns he takes around a room before sitting, and the way he winces at metal with a silver sheen.

 _I apologize for such unsightliness_ , he says when Hubert walks in on him filing his teeth, as if Hubert does not watch him chase squirrels.

Whatever Ferdinand does conceal comes out in his howls, short, high bursts on some nights and long, low cries on others. In moments, Hubert closes his eyes to listen, memorizing the way each reverberates within a different hollow piece of him. None of the tongue wagging at parties can manage the same.

All of this is crucial intelligence, Hubert reminds himself.

There is nothing to be gleamed the morning Ferdinand reads an old knight story, sitting in the drawing room with a stack of papers by his knee. Hubert looms behind him. “That does not look like work.”

“The village’s best chef recommended it.” Ferdinand tilts his head back, his hair falling away from his shoulder. Hubert looks past him at the book. He resists commenting that Ferdinand’s preferences haven’t changed.

“It looks like something a child would read,” he says instead. Ferdinand ducks his head with a chuckle.

“Who could not find inspiration in tales of gallantry? Bold, steadfast, chivalrous… and they always vanquish the beast.”

Ferdinand turns the page, though he could not have read it.

“Given our arrangement, I am surprised you would venerate such violence,” Hubert says.

“A noble must never back down from a challenge. But for those such as us, there is no honor to be had in victory.”

As always, Hubert does not respond to the assumption. The statement stands true.

Ferdinand closes the book and rises with a new spark in his eye. “Would you care for a game of chess?” he asks.

There is nobody else around that morning, likely the only reason Ferdinand is prolonging Hubert’s stay. Still, Hubert is just as loathe to turn down a challenge, if it is within his own specialties.

“You realize that in just a few moves, you shall have to return to your oh-so-noble duties with your tail between your legs,” Hubert says. The metaphor makes Ferdinand’s brow twitch.

“We shall see.”

A few turns pass without giving Hubert reason to sweat. Then Ferdinand holds out for a few more, driving a path through his defenses, and all at once Hubert finds that almost any move he can make would lead to Ferdinand’s victory.

He was seven and Ferdinand five when he taught Ferdinand the game. He barely got through the instructions, as Ferdinand was more occupied with making the knights clop across the board, voicing their neighs.

Neither is undead, but that might as well have been another life.

He banishes the thought and scans the board for moves that won’t give Ferdinand an opening—or sacrifice Hubert’s queen. Unfortunately, barriers mean nothing to Ferdinand.

“Would you please tell Edelgard it is rather rude of her not to respond to my latest invitation?”

Another image resurfaces: Edelgard nudging Ferdinand aside to play against Hubert, causing Ferdinand to care about his chance at the game.

Hubert clenches his teeth. A flat _no_ would prompt Ferdinand to send another message. In his mind, Hubert tests his one safe move before placing a bishop to block Ferdinand’s onslaught.

“I will pass on all relevant information,” he says, and Ferdinand can’t hide his pout.

* * *

As autumn arrives, the night chill pierces Hubert’s cloak, and the trees shed his cover in reds and browns that crackle underfoot. The complications suit him. Full moons have become too routine; other than the novelty of watching an overgrown dog headbutt trunks, it is rather like guarding an abandoned vault.

An anomaly comes with the dawn. In the last vestiges of dusky blue, the beast limps toward one of the trap doors. Normally, Hubert would consider his mission complete, but after waiting for orange to suffuse the air he ducks into the tunnel.

Disoriented from such brief light, he braces a hand against the wall. It slides over a bump that gives him pause. His explorations have been limited to uncovering the entrances and finding where the paths converge. He’ll have to investigate the tunnels themselves another time.

He steps through the cellar. The lack of blood leads him to the conclusion Ferdinand has sprained an ankle, hardly a disaster—but Hubert enters the manor, noting the cellar entrance’s poor defenses. Traps would like as not ensnare the beast himself. It is a wonder thieves have not emptied the place of its many crates.

Something else to snoop through at a later time. For now, he finds Ferdinand in the drawing room, huddled in a way unsuited to his chaise lounge. He’s wrapped in a floral quilt, which doesn’t cover the freckled dip of his collarbone or the shin he props up to dig at his foot. He looks ready to bite it off when Hubert approaches and drops to his knee. Ferdinand jolts his head up, his eyes full moons until he recognizes Hubert.

“Let me see,” Hubert says, avoiding sudden movements as he reaches for Ferdinand’s foot. Ferdinand releases it to show Hubert the bottom, where a large thorn has stuck into the pad. Undoubtedly painful to walk on, but about the least nasty thing Hubert has seen. He sighs. “I had better tend to this before it gets infected.”

When Ferdinand’s human faculties return, he will doubtlessly be horrified at the way he whimpers under Hubert’s care. At least his pride doesn’t interfere as Hubert pries out the thorn, washes away the blood and dirt, and wraps a bandage.

Once Hubert finishes and stands, Ferdinand straightens his posture and wraps the quilt tighter, clearly aware of himself again. His usually silken hair is a veritable nest. Out of habit, Hubert holds a strand near the root to avoid yanking as he removes a bramble.

Ferdinand’s face reddens. “Please, if not for this setback, I would be presentable by now—”

“Cease your fretting. I have not cared about your appearance a moment in my life, and I never will,” Hubert says.

He can’t read Ferdinand’s expression, a fact that galls him more than it should. All he knows is the instinct to comb tangled locks, like an itch in his fingers, which he laces behind his back. There must be something useful he can do without treading into the asinine. Were he Ferdinand’s manservant, he would sweep up the shed hair and organize the ledgers occupying the coffee table. It is clear Ferdinand expects no company; Hubert will be accompanying him to dinner in another territory.

The thought of food leads him to the kitchen, where he butchers meat with a precision that satisfies him before he remembers Ferdinand just hunted. _Indulgent nonsense_. He sears two portions anyway, just enough to brown the edges and leave the middle as bloody as he prefers.

When he returns, Ferdinand has pulled on a robe and fought his hair back in a tail. He sets down a report on crop yields when Hubert presents the plates. It’s surreal to shift a velvet pillow to sit beside the barely dressed lord, Hubert still in full stakeout gear, and eat plain steaks in a gilded makeshift study.

Then again, it’s surreal to eat beside another at all, with no room full of people to scrutinize.

Ferdinand prods the pink center with his fork. His expression so resembles Edelgard’s reactions to her drinks that it tugs Hubert’s gut. He expects to be asked to redo it, a request he’ll refuse, but Ferdinand only thanks him.

“I apologize for having nothing to offer,” Ferdinand says. “There is nobody else here, and I am ashamed to say most of what I prepare myself is not fit for guests.”

 _Guests_ , as if Hubert is only there for breakfast. “Think nothing of it.”

Ferdinand sets down his fork and shines a smile on Hubert. It disorients him like his earlier glimpse of morning light.

“Thank you for your aid. That was beyond the scope of your assignment,” Ferdinand says.

Was it? He had been tasked with ensuring no innocents were harmed; Ferdinand could not have antagonized the thorn.

“I only did what anyone would have done,” Hubert says.

“We have both met exceptions.” Ferdinand’s smile drops, but somehow his expression is softer for it. His fingers, with their pointed nails and trimmed fur, hover at Hubert’s elbow. “Old friend…”

“I am already late for my next task,” Hubert says, even though for the moment he cannot think what that is. Ferdinand pulls his hand back.

“Of course. I apologize for keeping you. I shall see you at the Varleys’ estate in a fortnight.”

Hubert does not tarry before resuming his actual duty.

* * *

Ferdinand’s invitation comes at an opportune time, as Varley ranks high on Edelgard’s list of targets. Its ruling couple wouldn’t normally bring a rat like Hubert into their home. With him as Ferdinand’s plus one, they have no choice. Still, Hubert does not cross the threshold until invited inside, just to mess with everyone involved.

Amongst the guests, Bernadetta is pressed into a corner. The rumors surrounding her bear a familiar shape, as her seclusion leads people to assume the sun burns her. Hubert has never had a reason to believe it. It doesn’t deter Ferdinand from startling her with his approach.

“Would you please do me the honor of showing me your greenhouse? It has quite the rare collection, I hear,” Ferdinand says with a bow. The out he’s offering seems to relieve her as much as it does Hubert. Her relief vanishes when she notices Ferdinand’s company.

“I, um, wouldn’t want to interrupt your date,” she says.

Ferdinand flushes scarlet. Before he can blow their cover, Hubert says, “That will not be a problem.” His attempt at a smile has her dragging Ferdinand off by the arm, away from Hubert, who contents himself with knowing she’s in safe hands. 

_Knowing_? Does he?

That is not what he is here to interrogate. In a house such as Varley, treachery sits close to the surface. The time to dig deeper for it will come.

* * *

The unexplored labyrinth below the Aegir estate niggles at Hubert until he can return with a shovel. He does it when only a slice of the moon betrays itself. Cloaked with the night, he enters the tunnel from before and lights a torch, casting a tall, flickering shadow along the dirt. He feels around for the lump until he strikes gold.

Not gold—bone. A human finger.

A shin comes next. Then more, all parts and sizes scattered along the tunnels like a dog’s hoard, some of them shattered in pieces. The rush of a puzzle almost overtakes him before prudence sets in. Who knows how long it would take to dig up the whole estate without being caught?

Luckily, he has a better lead in the cellar, where he hauls aside crates and barrels. It disturbs films of dust and dirt, but given Ferdinand’s state last time, he’ll never notice. The effort reveals alcoves that, with a little digging, turn up skeletons. None of them are new enough to have been dumped after the previous Aegir’s death; some of them look just barely older. He gleans all he can before replacing the crates.

Unable to identify the dead, he learns little that surprises him. But the lack of fresh bones suggests that Ferdinand, at least, may be genuine in his use for Hubert. Knowledge of what forms the foundation of his estate may have even fueled the request. Still, it is not in Hubert’s nature to give others the benefit of the doubt, and curiosity will not loose its grip.

After the next full moon, this one uneventful, he dawdles in the manor. This time, Ferdinand has made the tearoom his impromptu office as well as breakfast space. His eggs must be cold with the way he mutters at the papers he shuffles through.

“You look like you want to strangle those documents,” Hubert says as he leans against a rare empty stretch of wall. Ferdinand runs a hand through his hair, again tied in a hasty tail.

“Thank goodness for paper trails, if anything. Though I could focus on my own governance if not for my father’s fondness for extortion.”

“Given the literal skeletons in your family’s closet, I would think paperwork the least of your burdens.”

Ferdinand glances up, his eyes shadowed from his active night. “Please do not joke of such things.”

“Did I hit close to the bone?”

“Your humor goes too far. I realize it is dull for my father’s crimes to take place in his ledgers, but that is the course I must correct.”

Again, Hubert cannot tell if Ferdinand is lying or ignorant. He tires of not being able to tell. “And how thrilling are cellar crimes?”

Ferdinand tilts his head in a way now familiar. “Cellar crimes? What does that mean?”

“There is no need to be coy. I have seen what is stored behind your crates.”

That does not garner a reaction—no pale skin or furrowed brow. “Wine? I do not… Wait, why were you rummaging through my cellar?”

“Have you forgotten it is you who limped through, necessitating my chase?”

That shuts Ferdinand up. He sets aside his work and stands. “I beg your pardon. I must investigate matters.”

He makes no attempt at subtlety on his way to the cellars. Hubert follows at a distance. By the time he descends the stairs, Ferdinand is already dismantling stacks of crates, the feat less of a challenge for him than it was for Hubert. Soon enough, he uncovers a pit with Hubert’s findings.

He falls to his knees and pulls out a skull. It quivers in his hand.

“This, this is,” he says. That’s all he manages before he turns around and vomits in the dust.

The skull clatters onto the pile. Ferdinand rises on shaky legs and covers his mouth with a handkerchief. “There are more?”

“Yes,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand lowers his head and releases half of a laugh. “It is not quite a closet, is it?” he asks with no real humor. Hubert doesn’t smile.

“Perhaps you should continue investigating when you are no longer in danger of soiling the evidence,” Hubert says.

“Yes. I apologize for my moment of weakness. Some ginger tea, perhaps.” This last part, he mumbles to himself on his way up the stairs. For some ungodly reason, Hubert cleans up the vomit.

By the time he returns to the tearoom, Ferdinand is standing with a cup, as if he cannot tell which surfaces would burn him if he sat. He looks out with glazed eyes toward a forest the color of fire.

“Nobody even told me I was a beast until after the symptoms manifested,” he says. “I used to think every child must go through such changes in private shame.”

This must have been the year Ferdinand became too fussy for Hubert to deal with. It had vexed him, but Edelgard was bitten soon after, and Ferdinand’s response to puberty became the last thing on Hubert’s mind.

“I knew my father was a greedy, corrupt man,” Ferdinand continues. “I have striven to correct his mistakes, to rule a fair and prosperous land, but this? I always thought that...” He sets down the cup to pull off his glove. Even now, the motion sparks something inside Hubert. “That at least in this, we meant to do no harm.”

Ferdinand’s eyes flash gold. It is the only warning before he swipes at the decorated mirror, sending it crashing to the floor. “This sham dishonors us all,” he barks. “Let them see us for the beasts we are."

Claw marks disrupt the revealed wallpaper. Ferdinand scrapes a hand down them, his own track an adjacent size and shape. He scrunches his face like he still smells vomit. “And this wallpaper! Chartreuse, Father? Hideous.”

Hubert stands through this tantrum with his arms crossed. “And what do you intend to do?”

Ferdinand forms a fist against the wall. “What is there to be done, for what the dead have done to the dead?”

As he turns to his company, his pinched brow settles. He droops into the shape of a puppy who stepped on a thorn.

“I know you are only the messenger. I beg your pardon again; I must think on some things,” Ferdinand says. He sweeps from the room, leaving his cup of tea behind.

* * *

In the following fortnight, Hubert receives a letter with a seal that earns both a frown and his immediate perusal.

_My old friend,_

_I apologize for not seeing you off properly. I must also apologize for losing my composure and taking matters out on you that are not in the least your fault._

_If anything, I thank you for opening my eyes. It is not enough to hide away and tear things down. I must seek out the truth and work to build a future without victims. If I am correct about your sense of justice, perhaps we can speak further when next we meet. Either way, your continued presence in my life is a great boon._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Ferdinand_

A smudge follows, as if Ferdinand could not commit to a proper signature. It suits the way the letter fades between his and Edelgard’s voices. Perhaps that is why Hubert smoothes the letter gently to reread it, even though he will have to burn it soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [this](https://twitter.com/peelingbananas/status/1219490020651884545) amazing fanart of this chapter!! I'm not on twitter, but I was so happy to find this fluffy and bedraggled boof.


	3. Only Because

The beast’s screams drown out the wind. Blankets of dry leaves rise, loop, and fall. The movements register as false alarms before Hubert detects another presence besides the chipmunks.

Perched in an oak, he keeps his ears peeled. All he hears is the beast’s cacophony. Though focusing on it staves off Hubert’s nerves as he descends, it also masks the footfalls of his attacker.

Hubert dodges in time to save his neck. As he whips a poisoned dagger from his belt, the intruder warps into the shadows. They reappear closer to the beast with a flash of silver.

Hubert’s heart palpitates. He grasps in his boot for a wooden stake and lunges.

This time, the beast distracts them as Hubert drives his stake between their ribs. They collapse into themself.

Amateur mistake. They should have dealt with him, first.

He kneels to pocket the vampire’s dagger before the beast can see. The silver weighs heavy within his coat, even though he’s carrying similar weapons. He knows how many seconds it would take to infect the beast’s bloodstream, the way the beast would drop and convulse, shrieks quieting to whimpers. For the first time, the knowledge makes him ill.

The beast barrels off into the trees. Hubert follows on full alert. He cannot waste time on contemplation until the moon falls and the beast vanishes into the labyrinth.

Hubert recalls the letter. Whatever investigation Ferdinand has been conducting, it has not been subtle enough. It will be due in part to Hubert’s carelessness if Ferdinand gets wrapped up in Arundel’s plots—for while the vampire might not be in his coven, studying the dagger’s make leaves little room for doubt. A hilt of bone, etched with a sigil.

Hubert tells Ferdinand none of this. He does not stay for the requested meeting, or even his reward for that moon. He certainly does not stay for breakfast or chess or whatever inane thing Ferdinand would suggest.

Next moon, he will either fulfill or null their initial arrangement, and that will be all.

* * *

Edelgard thumbs through her meticulously organized files. The office’s furnishings are tasteful, restricted to black and white and red, with nothing plush enough to get lost in or ornate enough to crush.

“There is no need to put off getting rid of Varley, is there?” Edelgard asks as she pulls out the relevant dossier. She plans to expose the countess’s underhanded deals; soon after, the count will take his final sip of wine.

“A small need, perhaps. I am still vetting options for a replacement, should their daughter not wish to succeed them.” If he is thorough enough, the task may bleed into the full moon. A pity.

“I see. Be swift, then. We must weaken as many of Arundel’s allies as we can. His more direct ranks will be emboldened by the shrinking daylight.”

Her prudence chastises him. “Very well. We shall be onto our next target soon enough.”

“What of Aegir? Have you ascertained a connection?” 

From his place beside her desk, he flips through a section of the dossier, his thoughts far from Varley. That home’s shadows have been sullied with the smile Ferdinand used to coax Bernadetta from them.

“I do not think Aegir is of much relevance after all,” Hubert says. Edelgard’s attention pins him. She should not spare it on his melted edges.

“I received a letter from Ferdinand,” she says. He manages not to crease the page.

“I shall have the route to his estate blocked.”

“That isn’t what I meant. Perhaps you should take a look.”

She digs it out, smoothing it with a familiar care before passing it over. It is addressed as informally as Ferdinand's last. In it, he apologizes for his previous impropriety and requests a meeting for business on her terms, along with a postscript asking after Hubert. Hubert cannot resist creating a dent in this one, next to his own name, best kept out of correspondence.

“So he has learned the basics of negotiation,” Hubert says. “It is hardly enough to draw you out.”

Edelgard looks toward the heavy black curtains, her expression mirroring Ferdinand gazing over his forest. “It is not as if I chose this.”

Hubert’s heart fights the locked cage of his ribs. Edelgard spares them his response, returning her sharpened attention to him.

“Why did he ask about you?” she asks.

“I haven’t the foggiest.” Not technically a lie. Ferdinand should concern himself with larger things.

Edelgard places the letter in a spot not meant for it, breaking their system. “You haven’t been yourself these past months. At times, you even seemed… happy. But it as if you mean to hide in the encroaching winter.”

“That is my nature, after all.”

“Enough, Hubert. How long have we been friends?”

His shuffling of the forgotten dossier disservices them both, but he cannot bring himself to meet her eyes. To think, he slipped enough for her to cite their friendship.

“I apologize for causing you concern. I assure you it is nothing of importance.”

After a period of silence, she sighs, and their work resumes its course.

* * *

Hubert is vetting Varley’s replacement when the whispers reach him. A beast, stalking the forests of Aegir, causing its townsfolk to hide their children at night. So Ferdinand could not even hide for a moon without him.

It is no longer his business. Still, his path leads him closer to Varley’s border, where the whispers grow more urgent. _Rise_ , a village of Aegir insists. _Slay the beast that threatens our families and lord_.

Hubert makes a split-second decision. He rationalizes it while he prepares.

* * *

A dusting of snow falls in the last hours of moonlight. Later in the morning, most of the evidence of it will be erased. For now, Hubert’s breath fogs if he’s not careful.

No doubt the villagers with their torches and pitchforks are not thinking of such things. Experience will have to make up for numbers. Even so, as he sizes up the group from above, he realizes he won’t be able to control a fight with them all in the fray. The thought of them setting eyes on the beast makes him burn, as if Ferdinand’s pride were one of the important stakes. No, prudence necessitates he bait individuals behind the bushes, where a noxious handkerchief ends their night. Killing them would simplify the morning, but Ferdinand would never accept that.

After a handful goes missing, the angry chants peter out into confused whispers. Good. Perhaps he can stall their momentum until sunrise.

A mournful howl shatters that thought, far too close for comfort. Hubert goes cold as snow as he takes stock of his weaponry. The group falls into a hush, powder settling around them, until another howl sends them into a frenzy.

A couple run straight into a pit Hubert disguised. Panic spreads as several rush toward the howls, coming within view of the beast. He bounds up to meet them with his tongue lolling. Yelling, they weave around the trees to converge on him.

If Hubert ever doubted his judgment, there would be no need now. He knocks a villager over the back of the head with the flat of his dagger. They crumple. Another falls beside them before the villagers realize the beast isn’t alone.

Ferdinand isn’t alone.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a villager demands.

“That is my question. Such sloppy organization,” he taunts before he disappears into the bushes. The distraction works; he draws in a couple who he knocks unconscious.

A third puts up a fight. By the time Hubert retraces his steps, the remnants of the mob are waving torches in Ferdinand’s face. His wide eyes glow in the fire’s light. He snarls and leaps back. Roots and low bushes slow the villagers, but as they surround him, one manages to slash his side. The cut oozes.

Hubert must have as little control as Ferdinand as he leaps to slice the villager’s abdomen in return. They drop, paralyzed by the poison lacing through their system. As he attacks their neighbor, he slows, his aching limbs not quite obeying. He’s not accustomed to this sort of melee.

A blow connects with his back, sending him sprawling in the dirt. Pain shoots through him.

Not here, not now, not away from her.

He rolls over just as a pitchfork stabs the ground beside his nose. He grasps it in an attempt to rise. Another attacker bears down on him with an axe.

A muzzle crashes into the attacker, knocking them to the ground. A claw swipes at another villager. Someone’s scream trails off into the distance. Hubert pulls himself up to see Ferdinand standing over him, baring his fangs with a growl, one claw pinning a villager by the chest.

It leaves Hubert breathless.

He’s not the only one. The villager chokes on their begging, their words growing shorter. Satisfaction twists within Hubert.

_I could never forgive myself if I woke to find the crows picking at more than deer._

With a curse, Hubert rises to his knees. He grasps the thick fur over Ferdinand’s uninjured flank. 

“That is enough. You know you will regret this,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand turns to snap his jaws in front of Hubert’s face. Hubert growls. He can’t say Ferdinand’s name where others could hear. Why didn’t they come up with a code word? Is Ferdinand even present enough to recognize such a thing?

He must be. He protected Hubert; even now, he sniffs Hubert’s face to identify him.

“Yes, that’s right,” Hubert says. “I am here, old friend. Your battle is won.”

Ferdinand lifts his paw. The villager gasps before going slack. Hubert slings an arm over Ferdinand’s back as Ferdinand whines.

“I know. You are strong; you will be fine. Come to safety.”

Together, they make their way deeper into the forest. The chill numbs Hubert’s bare face. He settles his aching back against a boulder, and Ferdinand drops his head into Hubert’s lap.

“We must be on our guard,” Hubert says, but he doesn’t move other than to stop Ferdinand’s bleeding with his cloak. He will have to deal with the forest full of unconscious and fleeing villagers. For now, he stays by Ferdinand’s side, his hand gripping his furry neck, and lets the snow settle around them.

* * *

The snow is already melting when the sun rises. Hubert manages to nudge Ferdinand toward a trapdoor just as he shifts back. It’s the first time Hubert has seen that form shrinking and losing fur, until only the now bloodied cloak protects him from the cold. Hubert wraps it tighter and accompanies Ferdinand through the tunnel.

He gets Ferdinand situated on the chaise lounge, dirtying its pale cushion. Ferdinand hooks claws in Hubert’s sleeve and pleads with still-golden eyes. Hubert pries him off.

“I must attend to matters. After everything is taken care of, I shall return. Trust me,” Hubert says.

It takes everything in him to backtrack, using the labyrinth to locate the unconscious bodies and drag them to safety. For those with more awareness, he bribes or threatens them to stay silent. Some of the weapons he steals resemble the dagger of the vampire he staked. The rush of another clue is drowned out by a howl of rage that builds inside him, urging him to call out to the sun.

As one person not built for stamina, it’s a while before he returns to the manor. Ferdinand has already bathed, his skin red from scrubbing. He sits on a white four-poster confection of a bed that doesn’t seem to see regular use. He’s dressed in trousers, and a sweater rests around his otherwise bare shoulders while he fusses with the gash at his side.

“Hubert! What happened? Where have you been? What have I—”

Hubert holds up a hand. He halts in the middle of Ferdinand’s bedroom. Given the circumstances, he hasn’t paid any mind to tracking dirt, slush, and blood through the manor. The smattering of armor pieces and knickknacks on the floor tells him it matters even less, but he’s suddenly conscious of taking another step into Ferdinand’s space.

Then Ferdinand fumbles with a bandage, and Hubert is again at his side. He stands over Ferdinand and removes his gloves to tend to the wound. It’s already closing up better than if Hubert had sustained the blow, but he can’t bring himself to be glad he didn’t. Ferdinand shivers at his touch. The skin beneath Hubert’s fingers is so warm, he almost wonders if he is a vampire after all.

“Thank you,” Ferdinand murmurs as Hubert rises, brushing against Ferdinand’s knee. Ferdinand scoots aside and pats the sullied quilt. “I cannot imagine how much time you have spent on your feet.”

Hubert sinks onto the overly soft bedding. “I suppose you will want an explanation.”

“Please. All I remember is a parade of flames, and a spike of fear followed by anger.” His trembling hand clutches the quilt. Normally, Hubert starts reports at the beginning, but it is obvious what occupies Ferdinand’s mind.

“Nobody was killed,” Hubert says. Ferdinand releases a rush of breath.

“Thank goodness. What about injuries?”

“Kept to a minimum, I would say. Not that those swine deserved mercy.”

“How can you say that? Wait… Did you fight them?"

“The weaker ones went down without a fight.”

Ferdinand’s claws rip the quilt. “You—I made one request of you! To protect my people! You were supposed to, to…” He curls a hand over his heart.

“To ensure you did not wake to human corpses, and protect innocents at any other cost. You were bothering no one when you were sought out and assaulted. Does that not make you the innocent party?”

“That cannot be!”

“Then state your crime,” Hubert snaps. Ferdinand works his jaw before touching his bandage.

“So they truly came after me,” he whispers. “What could have provoked them?”

“The issue is _who_. I have reason to believe this was part of a larger plot. I assure you those responsible will be punished.” The weapons he collected are fresh ammunition. Edelgard’s enemies will not hide from him much longer.

“If they used my people, then I will do all in my power to assist.” Ferdinand straightens his shoulders, once again a proud lord. His endless determination is not enough. Hubert cannot even keep Edelgard safe from Arundel.

“Leave it to me. I will not let matters go this far again.”

“But it is my noble duty! Wait, did you know they were planning this?”

“I heard rumors and took precautions.”

“Was that what you were doing? I did not hear a peep from you all moon. I thought you might have been hurt. I feared that last time, I— _are_ you hurt?” Ferdinand reaches for Hubert, who twists away.

“It is of no consequence.”

“Do not say such a thing. You have seen the worst that lies at my core. I know how you must feel, but do not think I will devalue you for whatever manner of being you may be.”

“Human,” Hubert says in a hush. “I’m human.” He does not think he has ever said the words. It shouldn’t sting that they catch Ferdinand off guard. Hubert barks with dry laughter. “The most detestable creature of all.”

“You must know what people say,” Ferdinand says. After all Hubert has witnessed, how can he explain why he relishes the rumors? “Oh, Goddess above, you have _seen_ …” Ferdinand ducks and covers his face.

“Yes. I have seen you, Ferdinand.” As tenderly as he can, he pulls Ferdinand’s claws away from his face and holds them. Ferdinand’s trembling fingers brush aside Hubert’s bangs, as if to ensure the hidden eye mirrors the affection Hubert is taking pains not to hide.

“And yet you…”

“There is no _and yet_. Only _because_. I am a logical person, after all.”

Ferdinand shakes his head, but his mouth curls at the edges. “You are absurd, is what you are.”

“My sincere thanks.”

“That said… I am glad to have seen you, as well.”

“What makes you think you have?”

“I know I have.” The gaze that meets Hubert is as fond as it is piercing, pinning him like that villager beneath Ferdinand’s claw—the claw still curled in Hubert’s hand.

“An asinine claim,” Hubert mutters.

“Do not misunderstand me. I would not be surprised if even Edelgard herself did not know everything about you.” Accusation hardens his tone. It softens when he adds, “Still, I know enough.”

Hubert wants to argue, but results mean everything, and the night’s events lie between them. Their hands drop to the bedding, still linked. Ferdinand squeezes.

“Just, please, keep me in the loop from now on,” Ferdinand says.

“I will pass on all relevant information.”

“I am serious, Hubert. I cannot… I cannot deal with any more secrets.”

Hubert thinks of the claw marks beneath the mirror, Ferdinand’s investigations, and Edelgard smoothing a letter before gazing at the curtains. _It is not enough to hide away and tear things down_. Perhaps he should suggest she take Ferdinand up on his offer after all.

“As you wish,” Hubert says. He untangles his clammy hand, but Ferdinand remains close. He is aware, in a way he has never been, of Ferdinand’s bare chest.

“Thank you. And I admit, I would not mind if you were to call upon me, even when the moon wanes.” Ferdinand tosses back a stray lock of hair. It takes a moment for Hubert to regain use of his faculties.

“Is it the barely-cooked steaks you seek, or the chance to lose at chess?”

There isn’t a hint of a howl in Ferdinand’s laugh. “The chance to beat you, of course, and to serve you a proper dinner.” His tongue pokes between his teeth as he wets his lips. “Just the two of us?”

Perhaps Hubert _is_ absurd, given the response he lands on. “If it is just the two of us, there is no need for you to file your fangs.”

Ferdinand laughs again, even as he clutches his bandaged side. “I shall keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @dismal_disaster for capturing the mood of this fic in [these great illustrations](https://twitter.com/dismal_disaster/status/1314179807601725440) from chapters 2 and 3!!


	4. Epilogue

Spring populates the forest with wildflowers, patches of blue and pink and white seizing any chance at life. Hubert would bring Edelgard a few if they could survive the trip. Their fates seem sealed, as Ferdinand’s beast form tramples them, crushing innocents with Hubert on watch. Intelligence to keep to himself.

More blossoms succumb to Ferdinand’s rampage as he runs ahead. It only lasts a second before he circles back to rub against Hubert’s side.

“I have made it clear I will not run with you,” Hubert says, smoothing the fur between Ferdinand’s ears. He will not create a chorus in the moon’s honor, either, or join in the hunt—but he walks beside Ferdinand now, rather than watching from the treetops. A relief, if he’s honest.

Ferdinand shakes off Hubert’s touch and rises on his hind legs, bringing his front paws down on Hubert’s shoulders with a weight that makes him buckle. He braces himself on Ferdinand’s flanks, now healed but for a hidden scar. The embrace invites a barrage of licks against his cheek and temple. He scrunches his face away from the putrid breath.

“You are as slobbery as ever,” he says—though on other nights, he’s found he enjoys most kisses, if they come from Ferdinand. 

When morning arrives, Ferdinand still fusses to arrange himself, as if Hubert needs messy corners hidden. Hubert takes the time to brew coffee. No tea, given that they both refuse to nap after allnighters.

They settle on the chaise lounge, not quite a routine; though the moon’s cycles don’t change, they are still finding the shape of mornings.

“What happened?” Ferdinand asks.

“Nothing worth reporting.”

“No secrets,” Ferdinand says, as he often does. “Please, it is a whole night of my life.”

“What do you remember?”

Ferdinand holds his steaming mug with both hands in a way he wouldn’t hold a teacup. “Warmth. Joy. I was not alone.”

“That is the whole of it,” Hubert says, patting Ferdinand’s knee. He is still practicing how to touch without intent to harm. Ferdinand’s huff seems more to do with his words.

“If I was content with vague impressions, I would pick a less meticulous partner.”

“Flattering me for information, hm? Very well. I was going to spare you the image of you digging up some unfortunate squirrel’s hoard of nuts, only to renovate the hole with leftover bones. And then there was the tree you yelped at long after its birds had fled—”

Ferdinand throws up a hand. “No more, please. I cannot bear the indignity of it.” Hubert smirks at the easy breaking point.

“The true indignity was you drooling on my face at every opportunity. Must I demonstrate?” He presses his lips to the corner of Ferdinand’s mouth. “Really, this is all it takes.” He retreats to sip his coffee, unable to tamp down nerves at how unsure he is if that’s true.

Ferdinand buries his face in Hubert’s shoulder with a groan. “How do you withstand it?”

“Coffee. A moonlit stroll. A chance at pleasant memories.”

Ferdinand lifts to nuzzle his nose against Hubert’s neck, and Hubert doesn’t fight it.

* * *

After a detour to pick up suitable flowers, they return home together. It isn’t the first time Ferdinand has brightened Edelgard’s door, but as they roll up in the carriage that night, Hubert's lungs feel tight.

Upon entry, Ferdinand presents an overflowing pot of red carnations. “Fresh from the honored Varley greenhouse,” he says. “Are they still to your liking?”

Edelgard’s eyes, wide and genuine, only make it harder for Hubert to breathe. “Yes, thank you. The greenhouse must be as lovely as I’ve heard.”

“Perhaps you could send your admiration directly? Bernadetta makes a wonderful pen pal.”

Before Hubert can intercede, Edelgard takes the pot with a smile that barely crests the flowers. “I shall bear that in mind.”

She invites Ferdinand to a table crowded with three chairs. Unable to bear sitting idle again, Hubert places the flowers in the windowsill.

His hands and mind can’t find enough to fit around lately. With Ferdinand’s cooperation, winter saw the end of not only the elder Varleys, but Arundel himself. While Edelgard’s victory brings Hubert the utmost triumph, the horizon of his path lacks sharpness. He has been pouring time into his arcane studies—a pursuit for later, thanks to the company he must turn to acknowledge.

Edelgard and Ferdinand have set up a chessboard. Already, she sighs at his intensity. Hubert’s chest almost collapses; even now, he could not have imagined such a scene would repeat itself. It has always been pointless to recall days to which they could never return.

They still cannot. Ferdinand asks Edelgard if she retains her sweet tooth, making her go silent until he remembers, and Hubert pays too much mind to the cycles of the sun and moon.

Yet for the moment, they circle each other. A barb from Edelgard makes Ferdinand laugh, bright and loud, and Hubert’s chest expands as he settles down to watch.


End file.
